Gone in a Flash by Susan Rogers Cooper

sweet, guys were drawn to her. Big, gorgeous and loud-mouthed, it would take a certain kind of guy to go for Megan. Medium and mousy? Alicia figured that, standing between those two, she never had a chance with anybody.
    But Graham? When she’d first met him, he had a girlfriend, Lotta, a beautiful Latina with clear olive skin, big brown eyes, and boobs. Guys always went for boobs. At sixteen hers still hadn’t come in, as if they were ever going to. She hid her bras from her ‘sisters’ so they wouldn’t know she still wore a 30A. Megan probably hadn’t worn a 30A since kindergarten!
    She went in Graham’s room and was surprised how much stuff was still there. She’d seen the boxes of things he’d taken with him, but he’d certainly left high school behind – except, of course, for Leon. He had a bunk-bed arrangement with a top bunk along the wall, and the bottom bunk sticking out into the room. Under the half of the top bunk not being used by the bottom bunk was a desk. It was cleared, but the walls could talk. Posters of punk bands from Austin, a few national bands, some of Dallas Cowboy players, and high-school calendars, one for each of the four years. She touched them, wanting to peruse them at her leisure, but knowing she couldn’t stay in his room for long. The drapes matched his bedspreads, dark red and green plaid, more a mom’s choice rather than a teenaged boy’s choice. She went to the window and made sure it was locked, then stood for a moment just soaking it in. Then, sure that the door was shut, she went to the lower bunk, leaned down, uncovered the pillow and stuck her face in it. It didn’t smell like Graham at all. He must have taken his pillow with him, she thought. This is just an extra. She put the spread back up over the pillow and left the room.
    Once in her own, she sat down on her bed to put her books back in the satchel. First, though, she reached inside to make sure the chief hadn’t been mistaken about there not being a secret bottom. She felt around, trying to find a spring, a catch – anything that would release a hidden compartment. Instead she found something in the lining. It wasn’t low enough to be part of a release for a secret compartment at the bottom of the bag, but maybe something up higher? She got her fingers around it, trying to feel with her fingers what it was. Not being able to, she got her manicure scissors and snipped a small hole in the lining. Sticking her finger in, the hole stretched and she was able to take hold of the object inside. She pulled it out. It was a flash drive, maybe. What the hell? she thought.
    Then a voice called from downstairs, ‘Alicia! The sketch artist is here!’
    She put the object on her desk next to her computer and hurried downstairs.
    ‘You shoulda just grabbed her! You dumbass!’ Mr Smith said.
    ‘You wanted me to
kidnap
that girl? Are you crazy?’ Mr Jones said.
    ‘Do you have the satchel? Huh? Do you?’ Mr Smith screamed as he drove the panel van through the streets of Black Cat Ridge, trying to find the main street to the freeway.
    ‘Just shut up!’ Mr Jones said.
    ‘Shut up? You want me to shut up?’ Mr Smith said. He reached for his gun in its holster inside his coat.
    Seeing that Mr Smith was about to flip again, Mr Jones grabbed his arm, and the two began to wrestle. The panel van had reached the highway and Mr Smith should have taken the ramp to enter as the feeder ended shortly beyond the ramp. Instead the panel van swerved as the two fought and ran off the feeder into a grove of mesquite trees. For those not familiar with mesquite trees, they tend to have long thorns and sharp, skinny branches, and are good for only two things: rifle stocks and making smoke for some serious barbeque. The panel van took out a few of the lesser trees but slowed enough to come to rest against a slightly larger mesquite.
    Mr Smith was the first to speak. ‘What did you think you were doing?’ he asked quietly.
    ‘Keeping you